Ink & Shadow
What “Vigilante Shit” Feels Like When Your Body Isn’t Always On Your Side
Some emotions don’t explode.
Some don’t scream or shatter or demand to be seen.
Some sit quietly in the dark, cross-legged on the floor, holding a little lantern made of anger and resilience, waiting for you to notice the glow.
That’s what “Vigilante Shit” feels like to me.
Not vengeance as fire, but vengeance as clarity—the kind that comes after you’ve spent years trying to explain a pain no one can see.
The kind that whispers, I’m still here. I still matter. I still get to take up space.
Taylor sings the song like she’s walking down a hallway lined with old versions of herself.
Some broken. Some bruised. Some tired.
But all of them finally learning that power can be quiet… and still devastating.
And honestly? I think anyone living with a chronic illness knows that feeling more than we admit.
Because sometimes the villain is your own body.
The ache that drags you down on a good day.
The fatigue that sneaks in without knocking.
The flare that ruins plans you were actually excited about.
You don’t get to defeat it, not really.
You don’t get the cinematic victory or the dramatic revenge arc.
But you do get something else:
A kind of strength built in the shadows.
A kind of courage that doesn’t roar.
A kind of patience that feels like power, even when you’re curled under a blanket and counting spoons like currency.
Maybe “Vigilante Shit” isn’t about getting even.
Maybe it’s about getting self-respect back.
Piece by piece.
Day by day.
Soft, steady, quiet justice.
I picture it like this:
A dark room, lit only by the glow of a laptop.
Your body hurts, but you’re still here.
Your breath is still warm.
Your heart is still trying.
And that, that—is its own kind of rebellion.
Fibromyalgia tries to make the world smaller, but somehow you still find ways to expand.
Through small joys.
Through gentle mornings.
Through songs that make you feel a little more seen, a little less swallowed by the ache.
Taylor writes revenge like a ritual.
But you?
You live healing like one.
And maybe that’s the real vigilante work—choosing to love a body that doesn’t always love you back.
Choosing to show up anyway.
Choosing softness, even when you’ve earned the right to be hardened.
So if today your strength feels a little quiet, a little shadow-soft, a little middle-of-the-night:
That’s okay.
Quiet power still counts.
Soft justice still matters.
And you—slowly rising, gently burning, stubbornly existing—are doing your own kind of vigilante shit.
Put the song on.
Let the bass vibrate through the ache.
Let yourself feel dangerous in the softest way possible.
Not because you’re plotting revenge.
But because you’re reclaiming yourself.
One breath.
One step.
One shadow-lit moment at a time.
🕯
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